I Like The Way You Move
by Serp
Summary: Vicious, famed Syndicate enforcer, feared across the solar system for his frightening ruthlessness, is getting down on the dance floor. Cue Julia, Spike and a camera.


**I Like The Way You Move**

Alcohol. Yeah, that must've been it. Vicious rarely felt his limbs move so freely except when sparring with Spike in the dojo, and never without a reason that had to do with fighting. But now his arms threw themselves around; out, up, down, pointing fingers and curled fists clapping, thrusting and clenching. His legs too were wildly shifting of their own accord. Was that sweat on his brow? Hair in his face? Vicious frowned. What was he doing?  
>A beat filled his head. Drum beat? Heartbeat? Whatever it was, it drowned out all comprehensible thought and feeling, overrode every sense in his body until all that was there was the thud, thud, thud, hard and heavy and constant. Vicious clenched his teeth and felt his jaw rattle with the noise. God, it was almost unbearable.<p>

_"Do you want to dance?"_

The memory of Julia s words echoed in his mind, fogged now by tequila and noise. What had been his reply again? Yes, he supposed, given his current state. This was the dance floor after all. But what had possessed him to say yes was anyone's guess. Vicious swung his head from side to side, trying to spot his blonde, blue-eyed beauty somewhere in the crowd. Where was she? Faces swam into view a sweaty blonde man in a white polo shirt, a pretty redhead wearing a strappy black top and pink hot pants. Not Vicious usual crowd, that was for sure. But on the dance floor anything went, or so he'd heard, so a man in a long coat with a katana blade at his side was probably more than welcome. He could only hope.

"I think you've had enough." Ah! At last, a familiar face freed itself from the throng. Her black leather gleamed under the flashing, garish lights.

Vicious definitely agreed with her words, and he would have said so, but his tongue disobeyed. "Julia!" it shouted instead over the racket. "Join the party!"

"My god, how much have you had?"

Vicious shrugged and wriggled his hips, parts of him moving in ways he'd never known they could. "Dance with me!" he shouted again, reaching out to her. He almost toppled forwards when his hands did not touch hers. She was standing surprisingly far away. Or unsurprisingly, depending on who you were. At that moment Vicious was having a kind of outer-body experience, his muscles flexing, body jumping, while what remained of his consciousness viewed the scene with abject horror, powerless, unable to do anything. To think that Vicious, the most ruthless, cold-blooded murderer in the solar system, trained specially by the Red Dragon crime syndicate, was getting his groove on... He felt like being sick. Yes, that explained the ache in his gut. The world was revolving and bright colours flashed behind his eyes, like the lights above his head. Sharp pain pricked and jabbed at the inside of his skull, and every time he ducked and dived his stomach flipped over. Vicious' legs wobbled precariously and he stumbled forwards, crashed through the crowds, threw open a grubby brown door and dashed out into the open air, cold and welcoming, so quiet that all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. The nighttime chill was tinged with cigarette smoke and the lingering, familiar stench of city pollution. Vicious sucked in a gasping lungful of air and launched a half-digested mix of tequila and the pizza he'd eaten earlier onto a dirty patch of grass beside him.

"Wow, what happened to you?" Spike was standing against the wall, smoking as per usual. Nice to know someone was behaving in a characteristic fashion.

"I'm not sure," Vicious admitted, breathing hard. The sweat was drying off, though his brow was still damp and his mind was reeling after the vibrant assault on his senses. He coughed some more, puke splattering in the dirt. Spike's cigarette burned red hot as he took a drag, and Julia appeared from the doorway beside him.

"Get any pictures?" Spike asked.

"Huh?" Vicious looked up. His stomach felt empty now but he still wasn't out of the woods just yet. On the contrary...

"A couple," Julia nodded, holding out a small device to her green-haired companion. "Enough to buy us a lot of leverage for the next, oh, I don t know three years or so. Maybe more if we _really_ drag it out."

Spike flicked through the images, and Vicious watched in horror as his two so-called best friends giggled and pointed at what could only be the most undignified, humiliating set of photos of a Syndicate enforcer ever to grace the planet.

"I will _crush_ you if those _ever_ see the light of day," he said, before another wave of nausea sent him coughing once more upon the wilted dandelions.  
>"Well you'd best make sure they never see the light of day then, hadn't you?" Julia tucked the pictures away and Spike offered her a cig.<p>

"Don't you think you're being a little mean?" He chastised her, though he was clearly enjoying Vicious predicament as much as she was.

"You're missing three very important points." Julia held up three fingers. "One, I just had to watch my boyfriend embarrass himself in one of the best clubs in Tharsis," she put a finger down. "Two, it's a lot of fun; and lastly," she held up a solitary index finger, "I want a new car."

Vicious shuddered from more than just the racking pains in his stomach. No wonder she'd asked him to dance; Julia had clearly been plotting this all along. If it hadn't been his own ass in the spotlight, Vicious would have admired her gutsy initiative. But even thinking about guts made him feel weak at the knees, and thinking about the photos made him feel even more so. Why had he ever said yes to dancing? He rubbed his head and pulled himself to his feet, wishing he could just make those damned pictures disappear, wishing he could forget everything he'd done and start again before he'd even had a single shot of tequila. Unless... He opened his mouth, but Julia read his mind.

"I've sent them to five different e-mail accounts already. Don t bother trying to steal the camera." Vicious groaned as the three of them made their way back to the car. Why oh why had he ever said yes to dancing? Alcohol, he thought wryly as he clambered into the backseat. Yeah, that must've been it.

* * *

><p>Inspired by the Figment Daily Theme:<em> Dance break: Narrate a character's thoughts while he or she is in the midst of some serious dancing. (The character can be the most reluctant hoofer ever or Balanchine himself, but in this moment, this guy is getting down.)<em> Vicious kind of fitted the bill, the poor guy. Also I might re-write it at some point because I feel Julia is a little too much like Faye here. What do you think? Please R&R if you'd be so kind! :)


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